


doused in gasoline

by aalphard



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bartender Kuroo Tetsurou, Chef Kozume Kenma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Promise of Marriage, Yaku Morisuke is a Great Friend, it makes sense I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26489839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aalphard/pseuds/aalphard
Summary: To love is to be vulnerable, allowing someone to dig deep inside you and do whatever they want with you. When you allow yourself to love, your heart will be wrung and, eventually, it’ll break. As Kenma’s come to know, the longer you allow someone to run around your head, make your heart their home, the more it’ll hurt – and the thing is, Kenma thinks, he never really had a choice. Kuroo came in without even asking for permission, turning everything upside down as if Kenma’s heart was his from the start. Maybe it always had been, anyway, because Kenma doesn’t remember a day he didn’t love him. Maybe it had started when Kuroo barged into his room and forced him to go out and play. Or maybe when he first gave him his hoodie because Kenma alwaysaccidentallyforgot his own (he really did at first, but eventually he started to like Kuroo’s hoodies more than he liked his own). Or maybe ever since he was born and didn’t know anything – maybe he had always been his to do as he pleased.or somewhere along the course of his life, kenma fell into a burning yet lonesome love.
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 18
Kudos: 184





	doused in gasoline

**Author's Note:**

> based on this prompt:
>
>> the awkward moment when they reach the age they said they would marry each other if they were still single

_i have been doused in gasoline_ _  
the moment i fell in love ;  
and you took a match to me  
the day i fell in love ;  
held it over my head ,  
teasing teasing teasing ;  
now i suffer ashes  
oh the burning  
burning  
burning ._

_([by sophia on hellopoetry](https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3400036/oh-the-burning-burning-burning/))_

* * *

**_1._ **

Humans are despicable beings – that’s a fact. When something that’s always been 0 becomes 1, they go for 5, and then 10 and 30. And then they go for 50, 80, 100, gradually. And then, gradually and gradually, these being’s desires start to surface and they do so until it overflows. When people fall in love, they become cowards. When people fall in love, the stupidest things become their treasures and they can’t seem to see anything other than that. Something as simple as a _good morning_ or _get home safe_ becomes a huge accomplishment and if they don’t get their daily dose of it, it seems like the world’s one step away from bursting into flames. When people fall in love, all rationality ceases to exist and all people can think about is that one person in the world that makes their blood boil. Perhaps that’s why sometimes people did unthinkable things and blamed it on _love_ when, in reality, they should’ve been blaming their own greediness. Humans always want more and that’s especially true when it comes to the matters of the heart.

Somewhere along the course of his life, Kenma fell into a burning yet lonesome love. He didn’t really know when it started, that mess inside his stomach, the persistent lump in his throat, the bittersweetness at the back of his tongue every time their eyes met. He didn’t really know when he started to watch Kuroo so intently, noticing every little detail, every single thing that made him so ethereal. What he did know, though, is that he’d never felt so full and yet so empty.

He thought he’d be fine having him by his side every morning as they walked to school together. He thought he’d be fine being the one he confided in, the one he looked after and the one he turned to whenever he was upset or in a pinch. He thought he’d be fine, really. He was wrong – because he wanted to see more than he did, wanted to touch him just a little more, a little longer, wanted to see for himself if his lips were as soft as they seemed to be. He wanted Kuroo’s smiles, all of them, and he wanted his tears and just about everything he had to offer.

That’s why, when the sudden question pops up as they’re walking home, Kenma doesn’t even need time to think about his answer. _If we’re both single by the time we’re, like, thirty_ , he said, eyes puffy and unfocused, probably still thinking about his most recent breakup. _What do you say we get married? It’s not like people don’t already see us as husband and wife anyway._ Kenma knew it was wrong, he knew that shouldn’t have made him feel as good as it did but even so, he still beamed. He didn’t notice the way his lips slid up until Kuroo pointed it out, shaking his head. _You’ll have to do the chores, though_ , he pointed out at the time, _because I’m too lazy to do that kind of stuff._ Kuroo had giggled, nodding while throwing an arm over Kenma’s shoulders. _Yeah_ , he said back, _I’ll do the chores and you’ll do the cooking._ To be fair, Kenma didn’t know how to cook, but he still nodded back, giggling, thinking that _there’s still time for me to learn_.

_But oh_ , he remembered Kuroo gasping, no longer walking, and looking at him with an amused expression on his face. _If we do end up getting married, which one of us is going to change our last names?_ , because apparently they needed to sort everything out before sealing the promise, Kenma thought. _Don’t you think your name looks fancier with my last name?_ , he said and Kenma couldn’t really disagree. It _did_ sound nice, but maybe that had been his lovestruck heart talking. _Yeah, I don’t think Kozume Tetsurou sounds nice at all_ , he had said back and Kuroo answered him with the most adorable pout, saying something about how he was going to show Kenma he’d be able to absolutely _rock_ the name Kozume.

At the time, he’d laughed it off as if it didn’t matter, as if they were just teasing each other as usual, as if his heart wasn’t about to burst. _You could_ , Kenma remembered thinking as soon as he saw Kuroo waving him goodbye, _but for that you’d have to become mine. You could_ , he remembered thinking late at night, staring out his window, _but you’ll be snatched away as soon as I’m no longer part of your routine_. Kenma refused to acknowledge that at the time, refused to think about the days where they’d no longer be together and that promise wouldn’t really mean anything anymore.

But the thing is – they never talked about it again.

_**2.** _

****

Kenma doesn’t like the heat and that should’ve been a problem. He doesn’t like to sweat and that’s something he considers perfectly normal – he doesn’t know a single person who actually likes to be drenched in their own fluids, covered up from head to toe in warm clothes as they’re unable to get them off until they get home. Kenma doesn’t like to move around much and that should’ve been a problem as well, considering he’s running around like a madman every single day, shouting just so that he can be heard over bubbling, fizzling or the deafening sound of knives touching chopping boards.

Kenma doesn’t like the heat and he’s been told lots of times that he’d be better off getting out of the kitchen – but to him there are lots of other things he should be concerned about. There are sharp knives and _fire_ and people running around holding hot pans and maybe he should watch out for that weird newcomer who likes to watch him work instead of doing his own work. But the fact is: Kenma doesn’t like the heat but he quite enjoys cooking. He likes the smells and he likes to taste new things. He likes to _make_ something extraordinary out of the plain, ordinary things. He likes coming up with new recipes and he’d never admit it out loud, but he also quite enjoys the compliments.

“Coming through!” someone yells, not giving nearly enough time for him to dodge.

He’s been working here for quite some time now, though, and he’s grown accustomed to that by now. The kitchen is noisy and hot, a mix of the two things Kenma hates the most, but somehow he thinks it’s not all that bad when he gets to taste-test lots of delicious food for free. He does get kind of smelly sometimes, though, and he’d rather not recall that horrible time where his hair smelled like fried vegetables for a whole week.

He can hear the sizzling coming from the pans, the plates clanking and the random shouts coming from the other chefs. It’s a chaotic workplace, that’s what it is, but Kenma enjoys it to some extent. It _could_ be a little less hot, though.

There’s a loud _fuck me in the ass_ coming from the back and Kenma can only chuckle before starting to work on his own orders. Lots of lobster today, apparently. He didn’t kill them, he didn’t have the stomach for it. Instead, the freakishly tall newcomer guy had done it for him – and that’s why he now has someone looking over his shoulder with childish excitement. He wonders just how this guy can be such a kid after doing what he just did. Not that it matters, anyway. It’s just one of those random thoughts that cross Kenma’s mind as he chops whatever it is that he needs to chop.

“Kenma-san,” he hears him speak softly from above his head. “Don’t you think it’s weird people like lobster so much? Do you think they’d change their mind if they saw how we prepare them?”

“Why are you asking this?” Kenma sighs as he picks up the knife.

“It’s just that,” he giggles childishly, walking to the side so Kenma can see him. “Steak is easier. It already comes as it is and we just have to prepare it. It doesn’t have legs and it doesn’t run around or tries to bite your fingers off.”

As if to prove a point, he flails his arms around. There were, indeed, a few fresh wounds from his earlier battle with the two angry lobsters Kenma now has on the chopping board in front of him. He muffles a chuckle, shaking his head and turning to the board once again. It’s true, steak is way easier than lobster and he wouldn’t be smelling like seafood until he got home, which was definitely another good thing.

“It makes people feel better about themselves,” Kenma answers. “Because it’s tasty and expensive.”

“You really _do_ know everything,” he says in awe.

He pretends he never heard any of that, starting to do what he’s paid to do. Kenma never really cared about cooking, but as soon as he started, it came almost naturally to him. He’s always loved the process of creating a dish and pursuing the perfect flavor, of mixing things you never once thought would fit nicely together. Or so he tells himself as he chops down the vegetables and throws them into the pan, hearing the faint sizzle of the oil and starts off on gathering the ingredients for the sauce.

It smells nice for a moment, it always does. But it gets kind of repetitive and nauseating when that’s the only thing you can smell for hours and hours. Kenma avoided shrimp for months because of that one day someone tripped and accidentally dropped two bowls of mildly hot shrimp risotto on him and some even got in his hair. That had been a pain to clean off and even so, he still found bits of shrimp-smelling rice on his head when he finally managed to take a shower.

“Kenma-san,” he calls again. “Have you ever had lobster?”

“Like, twice?” Kenma says back in a barely audible voice, concentrating on the meat in front of him. It’s easy enough, he thinks, and yet it’ll be a pain to get rid of the smell that’ll linger under his fingernails. “Why?”

“Just wondering…”

It’s a simple dish and it usually doesn’t take this long, but this guy just can’t shut up, apparently. He can hear the orders coming through, the clash of pots and pans, the sound of running water, the knives hitting the chopping boards, the sizzling coming from the oil and the angry hissing from the boiling water.

It’s crowded today – he likes it. The restaurant has a nice, cozy atmosphere and Kenma sometimes thinks about coming here on his days off to taste someone else’s food. He never does it, though. Loud cheers come from outside the kitchen and Kenma allows himself to smile. People were always coming here to make good memories, after all.

“Do you think someone just proposed?” he asks again, too close to his ear.

“I wonder,” Kenma replies, not really interested in what this guy has to say.

He comes off as rude sometimes, but it’s just how it is. He has a job to do and he does it excellently, thank you very much – but this guy in particular, ever since he arrived, has been constantly running after him like a stray puppy. He’s freakishly tall, has weirdly shaped eyes and his voice might as well be the most annoying sound Kenma has ever heard. It’s not like he _dislikes_ him, it’s just that he likes to concentrate on what he’s doing and he makes everything harder when he tries to come up with small talk.

“People like to do that a lot, don’t they?” he hums while stirring the vegetables. The oil hisses at him and some ends up splattering around. “They come to nice looking restaurants and order expensive food to gather the courage to propose to someone. It’s kind of cute, don’t you think?”

Kenma sighs. _Not really_ , he wants to say, but he decides to stay quiet.

“Are you married, Kenma-san?”

He snorts, eyes still glued to his own work. _Why do people like lobster, anyway? It’s a pain in the ass_ , he thinks. “I’m not,” he replies. “Do I give off the married vibe?”

“Kind of.”

Now _that_ makes Kenma turn around to meet his eyes. Lev, if Kenma recalls correctly, is standing right beside him, smiling sweetly at him as his hands still work diligently, stirring and stirring. It’s nauseating now, that mix of vegetables, spices and lobster all around him and probably sticking to his hair again. His eyes are a nice color, he notices. He never paid attention to the guy before. Maybe if he wasn’t abnormally huge and _slightly_ less noisy, Kenma would’ve considered him.

“How so?” he asks, putting the knife down for a second.

It’s Lev who breaks off their eye contact, staring down at the pan. He stirs the vegetables once again, being extra careful about the oil splashes now. He shrugs, pouting a bit, and the cheekiest smile tugs his lips up. The sight of it makes something weird churn in Kenma’s stomach and he’s not sure he likes that.

“You’re very, uh, how do I say this?” he chuckles. “You’re very reserved, I’d say. I think it’s the first time you’ve actually looked me in the eyes since I started working here. You don’t look like you have any space left in your heart for someone to get in, I think?”

It pains him to admit it – Lev’s right.

“Is that so...” Kenma whispers, turning to the chopping board again.

They don’t talk anymore for the rest of his shift. Kenma is completely soaked in lobster, vegetables and paprika when he’s finally allowed to take his uniform off and _fuck_ , does he want a bath right now. His arms hurt and his nostrils are on fire from the time Lev fucked up and almost threw an entire spoonful of black pepper right in his face.

Lev is standing next to the staff’s exit and Kenma doesn’t really get why his face lights up the way it does when he sees him. Maybe it’s because he finally talked to him today instead of being the one talked to? Or maybe he just likes to run after him all the time, who knows. Either way, Kenma’s too tired for this and in dire need of a bath and alcohol.

It’s when Kenma’s already close enough to him that Lev speaks up, nervously fidgeting with the hem of his sweater. Kenma arches his eyebrow in confusion.

“Would you, uh.” he chuckles as he avoids looking him in the eye. _So precious_ , the thought crosses his mind. “Would you like to go out drinking later? With, uh, with me, that is.”

He was definitely not expecting _that_.

And, if he was being honest, he thinks he might’ve considered it if it was any other day.

“Sorry.” is all he says to back, smiling softly at the man in front of him. “I already have plans with someone else today.”

**_3._ **

****

Kenma loves Yaku, he really does.

They meet up every few weeks because that’s what old friends do and Kenma would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the man’s company. They usually go out to eat, but smelling lobster and vegetables all day has made Kenma lose his appetite. He’s pretty sure his hair _still_ smells like fried tomatoes and onions and something else he can’t really recognize. Yaku doesn’t comment on it, though, smiling sweetly as he always does. They weren’t exactly close in high school, merely acquaintances. They weren’t exactly close but look at them now.

He remembers when Kuroo introduced them, remembers how terrified he was of this boy who was as tall as him but had a terrifying reputation. He remembers trying to stay away from him as much as possible, but apparently Kuroo liked the guy and that meant Kenma saw a lot more of him than he would’ve been comfortable with. It was fine, though, because now they were great friends.

“How was work today?” Yaku asks as soon as Kenma takes the first step out of the restaurant.

“Hot and smelly," he replies as he always does. “This new guy asked me out today though.”

“Oh?” Yaku smiles devilishly. “And may I ask why you’re still here with me?”

Kenma scrunches up his nose, shaking his head. “I don’t go out with people I don’t know.”

“You know,” Yaku sighs. “That’s probably why you’re still single, Kenma. It’s nice to go out every once in a while, meet new people and, like, make out with them or something.”

“Gross…”

The man beside him laughs, shaking his head as if Kenma has just told him the funniest joke in the world. They walk side by side, not saying much except for the usual _how was work_ , _how’s your family_ , _did you see that thing on the news recently_ or the occasional _how do you feel about downloading a dating app_. Yaku had become a part of his routine as soon as Kuroo left, leaving nothing but a voicemail saying goodbye. He didn’t want Kenma to look for him, apparently, and Kenma didn’t have the energy to – but Yaku was there and that was enough. He doesn’t _love_ him, not in the way he once loved Kuroo. But Yaku’s a great friend and Kenma would be lying if he said he never wished he fell for Yaku instead. Things would’ve been easier if he did, is what he thinks, because they’re somewhat compatible and Yaku knows all the right things to say, all the right ways to comfort him and make him feel loved as he is.

The one thing Kenma definitely doesn’t like about Yaku, though, is how much he enjoys loud, crowded places. That and, well, the fact that every single time they met up, relationships and, inevitably, Kuroo were always the first things Yaku asked him about.

A heavy beat throbs in his chest and Kenma can’t even hear his own thoughts, much less Yaku’s words. They’ve barely stepped inside and he already wants to go home. Sweaty, hot bodies bump against him and Kenma swears he’ll take three showers to make up for it as soon as he gets home. Yaku is saying something, waving his hand in the air, but Kenma can’t really understand what’s going on until he looks around the room and something behind the counter catches his attention. Or, rather, makes it impossible for him to look anywhere else.

He hates it.

The same weird hair and the same narrow, cat-like eyes. The same sly smirk, the same broad shoulders and well-built arms. It must be fate toying with him, Kenma thinks, because there’s no way he’s standing right there when he was supposed to be across the ocean, somewhere far, far away, where Kenma wouldn’t have to live with that horrible, nasty, slimy thing travelling through his veins. But he’s there and he’s a thousand times more attractive than what he remembered – and it’s _unfair_ , he thinks, because there’s no way his heart can recover at this point.

He freezes, not really knowing what to do. His body is cold all of a sudden and he feels like he’s about to throw up if someone else bumps into him. He feels gross and inadequate and he wants to go home, crawl under his blankets and forget he exists. He might even call in sick tomorrow just so he can have enough time to process the shock of seeing him again after heaven knows how long.

It hurts and Kenma doesn’t know what to do. He can’t look away and he finds out he doesn’t really _want_ to, because he thought he might never see him again, because seeing him after so long wearing _that_ outfit should be illegal. He’s in love, has always been, and it hurts.

“Kenma,” Yaku is suddenly next to him, a worried look on his face. “Are you feeling sick?”

“Did you know he was back?” he manages to choke out. “Did you know Kuroo came back? Why is he working here, of all places? This is so close to the restaurant, Yaku, did you tell him anything?”

Yaku shoots him an apologetic look and Kenma thinks he’s _this close_ to crying. His whole body aches and he feels disgusting _and_ he still smells like lobster and vegetables and some random stranger’s sweat and all of a sudden he feels dizzy. It’s too much information at once and he needs a drink, is what he thinks, but there’s absolutely no way he’ll get anywhere close to that counter and that one person who’s made his legs turn to jelly. It’s crazy how much power Kuroo holds over him, even now.

He _knew_ , Kenma thinks. Yaku knew he was back and he knew he was working this close to his own workplace and he didn’t say anything. Because maybe he thought Kenma wouldn’t be able to handle it well or, well, maybe he thought Kenma moved on from him. But he didn’t, he couldn’t. The pain inside his chest every time Kuroo was mentioned made that very clear, thank you very much.

“Come on,” he says softly, stroking the small of Kenma’s back to soothe him. It doesn’t work very well. If anything, it makes him feel dirtier somehow. “I’ll buy you a drink and we’ll talk.”

“I want to go home,” Kenma whispers.

“Yeah, I’ll take you home,” he answers, trying to get Kenma to walk with him through the crowd. It smells awful. “But let me treat you to a drink or two. You look like you need it.”

He did need it.

Not one or two – he needed lots and lots of alcohol to numb the unpleasant feeling pooling up inside his stomach. It hurt more than he remembered, seeing him so effortlessly handsome right in front of him, seeing him smiling like that to people he didn’t know. It might’ve been part of his job, but it still made his heart ache. How long had it been since he smiled like that at him? _Fuck,_ how long had it been since Kenma had last _seen_ him? His lungs burn and his tongue seems too big for his mouth. His vision is hazy and he’s sure he’s about to cry.

So he accepts when Yaku brings him a drink he doesn’t know. It’s strong and it burns his throat but it’s better than the pain in his chest – it makes him forget about it for a few minutes. They don’t talk and Yaku gets up to get him another one. He asks for a stronger drink and Yaku just shakes his head. He does bring a stronger one, though, and this time Kenma can’t help but frown when it slides down his throat. It’s stronger and bitter and he doesn’t even want to know what it is because this one’s _better_. He doesn’t think about anything but the unpleasant feeling sliding down, warming him up inside until he feels like he’s about to combust.

Loving Kuroo always made Kenma feel like he was drenched in flammable liquid, one step away from burning up. It kind of feels like that, the warmth of the alcohol he holds in his hands, and he wonders just why he hadn’t tried that before. It would’ve been easier to cope if he had that with him on those lonely, cold nights. At least now he knows.

“You were in love with him once, weren’t you?” Yaku asks when Kenma’s about to finish his third (fourth?) drink.

Kenma wants to cry.

“Even if I was,” he whispers. “That’s all in the past now. It doesn’t matter.”

“But you guys promised each other you’d get _married_ , though,” Yaku sighs, taking a sip out of his drink. It’s noisy and Kenma isn’t sure he heard it right. “Kuroo was always talking about that, you know? I almost punched him because all he could talk about was _Kenma this, Kenma that, did you know we’ll get married someday?”_

Kenma wants to _cry_ and all of a sudden he doesn’t know how to breathe.

“He did _what?”_

“Yeah,” Yaku rolls his eyes. “He was really hyped about that marriage thing for quite some time. But apparently something went wrong along the way because one day he just decided he’d go overseas for college and eventually he stopped talking about you and the marriage thing. Did you guys have a fight or something? I’ve always wanted to know.”

He might be drunk – Yaku’s words don’t make any sense to him. It’s all a mess of syllables and random sounds in-between his sips. The loud music doesn’t help and he’s getting kind of dizzy. Kenma hears him talking some more, but his brain refuses to process information right now because all he can hear is an echo of _Kuroo was always talking about that_ because it wasn’t supposed to be just a prank, he realizes, and yet somehow it ended up being just that. His chest hurts and he’s drunk and he has to go to work tomorrow but he doesn’t want to exist anymore because everything is too much and he’s not sure he remembers how to breathe.

Kenma doesn’t understand the turmoil inside his bloodstream, doesn’t know why breathing hurts this much now. Yaku’s not looking at him, seemingly entertained with the two ice cubes inside his nearly empty glass. He’s happy – that’s a fact. He has a job he loves and he meets up with old friends from time to time. He has a nice family and he has great friends. But even here, sitting across from Yaku, there’s something _missing_ , a part of him he doesn’t think he’ll ever get back.

“Is it my fault?” he whispers, tears already pooling up in his eyes. It burns.

“I don’t think so, no,” Yaku replies immediately. “Kuroo was always kind of impulsive. I think he needed space to think about that kind of thing. He’s always treasured you, so I guess he just needed to think things over and like, come up with something to propose for real?”

“Are you…?”

“Oh, no,” he chuckles, finally putting his glass down. “I wouldn’t know. Kuroo never told me anything aside from the casual _I’m doing good, how are things over there_ kind of talk. It’s not your fault. I don’t think he would want you to feel guilty over these things, Kenma.”

“I need a drink,” he sighs, wiping away his tears before they fall down.

“You’ve had like four already,” Yaku points out.

Kenma shrugs. “Make that five, then.”

Soon, five turned six and six turned seven and somewhere down the line Kenma lost count of how many drinks he had. Not that it mattered, anyway, because all he wanted was to make that horrible burning inside his lungs disappear. Maybe, he had thought when he started drinking, the alcohol will make it go away. Maybe he could go out and actually have fun sometimes. _Hell, it’s not like Kuro didn’t go a little crazy when he was overseas_ , he thinks while gulping down half of Yaku’s new drink.

The other man doesn’t even have it within him to complain anymore. He knows better than that and just lets Kenma do whatever he pleases. It burns, Kenma thinks as the liquid slowly slides down his throat, but it’s better than before. He’s grown numb to the pain in his chest and all he can think about is the weird floaty feeling that envelops him.

“Will you take me home?” Kenma asks, voice wrecked and kind of suggestive.

Yaku shakes his head, chuckling. “You’re wasted, aren’t you?”

“Mhm,” Kenma hums. “I wouldn’t mind if you were to take me home, you know?”

“Yeah, sure,” he replies softly. “We’ll see about that some other time, okay?”

“Hey, Yaku? Do you think I’m attractive?” he asks with a pout. Yaku chuckles again. “Like… if you didn’t know me, okay? And I came up to you right now telling you to take me home and do whatever you pleased with me.”

“That wouldn’t happen in the first place,” he retorts. 

“Okay! But what if,” the words roll down his tongue weirdly, barely audible. “Would you go for me?”

“Kuroo would kill me, you know?”

“Who _cares_ about Kuroo!” he yells, banging his closed fist on top of the table. A few curious heads turn to them and Yaku has to cover Kenma’s mouth so that he quiets down a bit. _Definitely not a good mix, Angry Kenma and alcohol_ , Yaku notices. “He can go to hell for all I care…”

“You don’t mean that,” he strokes Kenma’s hair. “You’re just upset right now. It’ll be okay. Soon you guys will be all over each other again, I promise.”

“But,” Kenma sobs all of a sudden, hiding his face. “But what if I don’t want that? What if I want to forget everything because I don’t want to have anything to do with those feelings anymore? I’m tired of it, I want out.”

If Kenma had been sober, he would’ve noticed the way Yaku’s eyes scanned the room, the way he tried to make it seem like everything was perfectly normal, as if they were just old friends meeting up after some time. If Kenma had been sober, he would’ve noticed the new bartender and his ridiculous hair and his deep, _stupidly attractive_ voice looking towards the commotion. But he didn’t – because he wasn’t sober. His head spins and he’s _this close_ to throwing up.

The music is loud and he’s not sure he’s even alive anymore. Everything is suddenly enveloped in some kind of haze and Kenma wants to close his eyes and not think about the pain in his chest, wants to let it fade away with the music. But Yaku touches him softly and he opens his eyes lazily, looking at him through his lashes. It hurts.

“I could talk to him,” Yaku offers.

“Why?”

“You guys need to talk,” he says softly. “He could take you home and you guys, like, talk about this whole thing.”

“I don’t want to talk,” Kenma whines, hiding his face again. It hurts. “I want this to go away and I never want to think about him ever again.”

Kenma is an emotional drunk, Yaku notices.

“What if I did the talking for you?” he suggests. “Is there anything you want me to tell him?”

“Yeah, tell him to fuck off.”

If Yaku ever thought about how, let’s say, _unconventional_ their relationship had been, it doesn’t show on his face. His eyes are loving and his lips are parted in a sweet smile while he nods at Kenma – who’s still blabbering about how much he hates Kuroo and how awful it is that he left without properly saying goodbye. _That fucking jerk left me and didn’t even bother to come say goodbye in person! If I go there I’ll beat him to death and you better let me!_ , is what he said. If Yaku ever thought about how heartbreaking that might’ve been for Kenma, it doesn’t show.

He stops him when he throws one arm up as if asking for a refill. He decides Kenma’s had enough alcohol for a few months now and he even feels kind of bad for dragging him here because his face looks kind of green and his eyes have this sad, pitiful gleam. It’s his fault, really, because he knew all along. He knew why Kuroo left and he didn’t say anything. He knew why Kuroo cut ties with Kenma and he didn’t say anything. He knew and he never even tried to explain anything because Kuroo asked him not to, because one day he’d be back and talk it out with him. Yaku just didn’t know it would take this long.

“He can go fuck himself,” Kenma rolls his tongue, blinking lazily. The alcohol in his bloodstream might be partially guilty for that, but he looks hopelessly wrecked. “I bet he’s like, married with seven kids already. Fuck him and fuck them. Go die for all I care!”

Yaku sighs, nodding. “Do you want me to take you home?”

“I want to punch him in the face,” he whines. “Because he left me all alone for all these years and now!” he points to the bar, where Kuroo is apparently entertaining a pretty big group of people. “Now he’s here and he’s showing off to people and I hate him.”

“Do you want me to call him over so you can punch him in the face, then?” Yaku suggests.

Kenma pouts, shaking his head. “I want another drink.”

“Can’t do that, no,” he giggles. “You’ve had enough for today. Come on, I’ll take you home.”

“Yaku,” Kenma hiccups. “I love you, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he nods.

“But I love Kuro so much I think my heart is about to explode,” he goes on. “It’s not that I love you less than I love him, it’s different. You’re a great friend but I don’t want to kiss you or, you know, get in your pants or anything.”

Yaku laughs, nodding. He rests his elbows on the table and leans down a bit, tilting his head to the side. Kenma is still pouting, cheeks turning redder and eyes becoming slightly hazier. Kenma, on top of being a talkative, emotional drunk, was also pretty honest about his feelings when alcohol was involved.

“And do you want to get in his pants?” Yaku asks.

Kenma giggles, nodding excitedly. “I’ve always wanted to.”

“Do you want me to call him over?”

“I want to kiss him and then punch him,” he says. “But I also don’t want to look at him because I feel like I’m going to cry and then throw up on him and ruin everything again. It’s my fault he left, isn’t it? I shouldn’t have agreed to that stupid, stupid promise. Stupid Kuro, making my head all weird like this.”

“It’s not your fault,” Yaku smiles, reaching over to grab Kenma’s hand. “Kuroo’s an idiot.”

“Kuro’s an idiot,” Kenma repeats after him.

He still uses the nickname, Yaku notices. It shouldn’t have made his heart hurt as much as it did, he thinks, but there’s something about seeing how utterly hopeless Kenma looks like right now, completely wasted and probably about to cry, that makes something unpleasant pool in his stomach and Yaku finds out he doesn’t like it. It feels wrong, as if he’s the one at fault, as if he’s the one who made Kenma this miserable. And fuck, he might be.

Kenma looks like he’s ready to burst at any second now. Yaku dares to look behind him, look at the crowd that gathered around the counter where Kuroo’s still mixing drinks and making small talk with all kinds of people. Kenma’s humming softly, playing with his empty glass.

“I’ll go get you another drink,” he lies. Kenma smiles at him, eyes shining. “Can you wait for me here?”

He nods, giggling like a kid.

It’s probably not the smartest choice, Yaku knows that. But doing nothing and seeing Kenma self-destruct like that when he’s literally a few steps away from him – that makes everything worse. They might hate him afterwards, but they’re both idiots who would probably never see each other again if he doesn’t interfere. Kenma will probably hate him afterwards, but he doesn’t really care about that right now. He’ll deal with his wrath when the time comes.

“I want a Zombie!” he giggles again, throwing his arms up in the air.

“You’re going to die,” Yaku comments.

“Don’t care."

“I’ll see what I can do for you,” he replies before making his way through the crowd.

He steals glances at Kenma, who’s now resting his head on the table. A few minutes from now, he bets he’ll be sleeping soundly and it’ll be a pain to take him home in that state. Well. That’s something he won’t need to worry about if his plan works.

There are more people around him now, and he feels like he won’t ever be seen in the midst of the crowd. He stares at Kuroo, watching his lazy smile burst into a chuckle whenever someone says something mildly inappropriate or throws money at him. He’s making quite an impression, if Yaku’s opinion counts for anything. His only options are to be swallowed by the crowd or literally elbow his way towards the front of the counter, where he could, _hopefully_ , catch his eye and tell him they needed to talk.

Someone bumps into him and breathes unnecessarily hard right in his ear and Yaku has to contain himself and not actually turn around and punch this sweaty stranger in the face – because he’s being the responsible friend and looking out for the half-passed out Kenma who’s still lying down on top of the table. He can still see him from here – and he has to be quick if he doesn’t anyone to take advantage of him.

And so he yells “Kuroo, you jerk!” as loud as he possibly can.

He doesn’t look straight away, too busy with the two girls throwing themselves on top of the counter, but as Yaku repeats it a few more times, Kuroo finally looks his way. His eyes gleam and he waves with his free hand. Yaku waves in the air as well, furrowing his brows. Kuroo does the same and after a few seconds he nods, smiling softly at him.

Now he just has to wait.

**_4._ **

The buzzing sensation is one of the first things Kenma feels when he wakes up. His head is spinning and he can still taste the alcohol in the back of his tongue. His vision is blurry and he doesn’t even know how he got home last night – Yaku must’ve dragged him from the bar and tucked him in. He even changed his clothes and tied his hair back in a ponytail (that, sadly, didn’t make it in one piece until morning). Kenma makes a mental note to call him later, when his head is no longer spinning, to thank him for doing that. It _had_ been partially his fault for letting him drink that much, Kenma reasons, but even thinking about it makes his head hurt.

He remembers very little, really, but it’s enough to make his heart clench in pain. He remembers Kuroo and the way he looked _so, so pretty_ behind the counter, making drinks and shooting flirty smiles all around. There would be a time where he’d have ran up to him and hugged him and who knows what else – but Kenma only remembers feeling hopeless and tired. Loving someone hurt too much. Loving _Kuroo_ hurts a thousand times more and Kenma hates how much power he still holds over him.

To love is to be vulnerable, allowing someone to dig deep inside you and do whatever they want with you. When you allow yourself to love, your heart will be wrung and, eventually, it’ll break. As Kenma’s come to know, the longer you allow someone to run around your head, make your heart their home, the more it’ll hurt – and the thing is, Kenma thinks, he never really had a choice. Kuroo came in without even asking for permission, turning everything upside down as if Kenma’s heart was his from the start. Maybe it always had been, anyway, because Kenma doesn’t remember a day he didn’t love him. Maybe it had started when Kuroo barged into his room and forced him to go out and play. Or maybe when he first gave him his hoodie because Kenma always _accidentally_ forgot his own (he really did at first, but eventually he started to like Kuroo’s hoodies more than he liked his own). Or maybe ever since he was born and didn’t know anything – maybe he had always been his to do as he pleased.

He steals a glance at his bedside table and watches silently as the clock ticks one or maybe five times before he yawns, shaking his head. He bets there’s still a considerable amount of alcohol in his system considering he doesn’t remember ever being brought home, and he decides he’ll call in sick today. It’s not a lie, not really, and Kenma is sure no one would ever allow him to hold a knife or get close to the stove when he can’t even see straight. If he’s being honest, he _could_ use a day or two off from work to sort things out in his head now that he knows Kuroo is back. Not that it means anything for what they could’ve been, but still.

Lev asks him if he wants him to come over to cook him porridge and while Kenma politely declines, he hears the clash of pots and pans and probably someone screaming before Lev apologizes and wishes him a quick recovery. _Is the restaurant going to be okay today?_ is the one thing he thinks about before his head starts to hurt and forces him to lie down again. He stares at his ceiling for a few seconds, not sure of what to do first. He could get up and make himself a nice breakfast and then take a shower and spend the rest of the day watching movies. Or he could just sleep it off.

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself when his phone dings way too loudly from his bedside table.

It’s a task to get it, Kenma finds out, because his muscles are screaming in pain and it makes him wonder just _how the hell_ did he get home last night – Yaku must’ve dropped him multiple times before managing to get him home. Everything hurts, really, and when he picks up the phone, he widens his eyes. Yaku sent him three _good morning, sleepyhead_ texts and a few smiley faces. He’s quite fond of those, apparently. When Kenma replies with an uninterested _morning_ , he starts typing again.

As he reads Yaku’s new texts, the missing puzzle pieces of last night start reappearing right in front of his eyes. He remembers leaving the restaurant after turning Lev down and meeting up with Yaku, walking to that new bar Yaku had been really fond of recently and drinking until he passed out because _fuck, fuck, fuck of all fucks_ , Kuroo was there and Kenma didn’t have a single ounce of rationality in his body to deal with that (he still doesn’t). Yaku tells him he drank really weird drinks and kept asking for more until he passed out and that’s when he decided he’d take him home. Yaku tells him he cried as he tucked him in, asking him if he really wasn’t worth it, if Kuroo really left him because he never loved him in the first place.

He decides he’ll never drink again.

Sighing, Kenma closes his eyes for a second. Everything is spinning and he feels as if liquid fire flows through his veins, as if he’s one step away from combusting and finally, _finally_ , being free of the invisible chains Kuroo has wrapped around his heart. But that doesn’t happen, it won’t ever happen and Kenma knows it’s futile to dream about the day he’ll be free from this overpowering feeling that leaves him unable to breathe.

He quickly replies, telling Yaku he better keep quiet about it and gets a smiley face as an answer. _That little shit_ , he thinks before burying his head on his pillows, closing his eyes hoping sleep would claim him once again. But it doesn’t, because his phone suddenly starts ringing. He declines it.

And then it starts ringing again – he doesn’t know who’s calling and, if he’s being honest, he doesn’t really care. But it keeps on ringing no matter how many times Kenma declines the calls and by the fifth time, he’s had enough.

“Yes?”

“Sup, kitten,” is enough to make all the blood in his body halt, his hands suddenly turning cold. “I thought you’d never answer.”

Kenma almost screams.

“How do you know my number?”

“Yakkun gave it to me,” he answers simplistically, as if they hadn’t been apart for years, as if Kenma didn’t try to drown his feelings with alcohol just yesterday. “He called me this morning, like an hour ago?”

“Why are you calling me?”

“He told me you were sick and that he couldn’t come keep you company so I thought, what the hell?” he chuckles. The sound is enough to send shivers down his spine and Kenma thinks that if he wasn’t already sat on his bed, his knees would’ve given out under his weight. “He gave me your address when I told him I didn’t have work until nighttime. And I guess we could talk for a bit?”

“Why would I…” Kenma starts off, closing his eyes for a second. “Wait. Are you outside my house, like, right now?”

“Kind of, yeah.”

It’s official.

Kenma is about to die and it’s all Yaku’s fault.

“Why?!”

“We have a lot of catching up to do and I kind of want to tell you something really important.” Kuroo sighs. “I know I was a jerk and I came here to apologize. Come on.”

“Why would you think I’d let you in?”

“Because…” he chuckles again. “I brought you pudding?”

_That jerk._

If anyone had came up to him a week ago to tell him he’d be opening his door to let Kuroo inside his house, Kenma would have laughed at them because _surely_ that would be impossible. They hadn’t seen each other in years and Kenma didn’t even get to say goodbye before he decided to leave him behind. They hadn’t seen each other in years and as far as Kenma was concerned, they were, now, as close as strangers.

It shouldn’t have made his heart race, seeing him like that. It shouldn’t have made his knees weak or his chest hurt, seeing him smiling so softly like that first thing in the morning. But it did and Kenma hated how much power Kuroo still held over him, how much he _still_ loved him even after all this time. If soulmates really do exist, is what Kenma thinks, maybe Kenma was always destined to be his while Kuroo was tied to somebody else. Why else would his heart hurt like this when he was literally a few inches away?

“Long time no see,” is the first thing Kuroo says.

Kenma swears that if looks could kill he’d be a murderer now.

There had been a lot of unspoken things and a lot of suppressed feelings and Kenma would be lying if he said he wasn’t about to overflow. This whole scenario looked like it came straight out from his deepest desires, hidden deeply under every possible layer of what made him who he is. There had been unspoken things and feelings Kenma never even dared to share because _who would_ , is what he thinks, because _he’d never see it like that_. But there he was, standing in front of him with his stupid hair standing up and that stupid smirk and he’s holding a grocery bag with pudding and Kenma wants to punch him in the face for ever coming back into his life like a chaotic hurricane and turning everything upside down.

He wants to do so many things – he wants to punch him or kiss him or maybe hug him and kick his ass. He wants to touch his hair, his face, and wants to taste his lips because he’s been dreaming of it for so, so long he’s sure he already knows. He thinks Kuroo tastes like vanilla and mint but he sure wouldn’t mind if he tasted like coffee and dark chocolate or even something completely different.

He wants to do so, so much, but his whole body is frozen because _Kuroo is standing right there after so many years and he’s still so, so pretty_ Kenma isn’t even sure he remembers how to breathe at all.

“I’m here for the pudding,” he says, finally.

Kuroo snickers before nodding, replying that “Me too.”

Kenma doesn’t know why, but all of a sudden he feels like there are butterflies swarming around inside of him. He doesn’t know why, but he steps aside and lets him in. He doesn’t know why, but he closes the door and _lets him in_ , for fucks sake. He doesn’t look back at him, letting his forehead touch the door and closing his eyes because _fuck, he just let Kuroo inside his house and probably inside his heart again_. It feels weird, that cold feeling spreading through his stomach, the prickling that climbs up his arms through his bloodstream – Kenma feels like he’s _this close_ to bursting into flames again because Kuroo does that to him.

He doesn’t say anything as he takes off his shoes and walks inside and Kenma doesn’t have it within him to move away from the door. He feels like he’ll fall if he dares to take a single step, his knees suddenly giving up on him. It hurts – he’s not really sure if it’s his forehead or the rest of him, to be honest. He’s hyper aware of his surroundings now because all of a sudden his house smells like Kuroo and it’s too much.

“Are you going to stand there forever?” he asks and Kenma almost screams.

“Why are you here?”

Kuroo sighs and Kenma hears the ruffle of his clothes, the sound of a plastic bag being put down and steps coming closer and closer until he _feels_ Kuroo behind him. It’s terrifying and exciting at the same time, so conflicting Kenma starts to feel tears welling up. There’s something stuck inside his throat, something hot running inside his veins and _this is how I die_ is what Kenma thinks.

He doesn’t turn around – not when Kuroo sighs again and not when he touches his shoulder.

But Kenma doesn’t turn around because he’s sure that as soon as he looks at him again, he’ll cry. He’s sure that his heart will explode and then he’ll go up in flames because it’s been like that for _so long_. Kenma has been in love, a lonely, hurtful, burning love that left him crying his eyes out for so many years he’s lost count already. He’s been burning up ever since he first noticed how, not hot or even appealing, but _how pretty Kuroo was_. He’s been drenched in a flammable liquid and Kuroo is the lit match that will send him up in flames and he’ll cease to exist – and he doesn’t even mind, really, but there’s something about the _pain_ , something about the way his heart clenches desperately inside his chest, the way his nails dig into the inside of his palms that makes Kenma want to forget he ever loved him in the first place.

Because Kuroo left him. He left and he never came back, he never sent a text or even gave Kenma his new number. He gave _Yaku_ his new number, for fucks sake, but not him. Because he left and he didn’t want Kenma in his life anymore, right? That’s the one reason he would’ve left him out of the blue without so much as a proper goodbye.

Kenma hates him.

Except for the fact that he doesn’t, really. He wishes he could.

“I figured I should apologize,” is what Kuroo replies, hand still on Kenma’s shoulder. It burns. “Yakkun took you to the bar last night, didn’t he? I told him not to. I wanted to call you and tell you I was back after I figured things out here.”

“What would make you think,” Kenma notices the way his voice quivers and he hates how uneasy Kuroo makes him. “What would make you even _consider_ that I might want your apologies?”

Kuroo doesn’t answer, but his grip on Kenma’s shoulder tightens. He thinks he’s one step away from burning up. If Kuroo keeps his hands on him any longer, he might. But he doesn’t – because Kuroo takes one step back and his touch disappears. The smoldering feeling from his touch persist, though, and Kenma has never thought he’d ever hate his touch and still crave for more.

“I owe you that,” he says. “Because I was a jerk and you didn’t deserve what I did”

It hurts.

“And I thought if I came back here immediately after I returned, you wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me,” he says.

It hurts so bad.

“You were the one person I realized I couldn’t live without,” he says.

Kenma doesn’t even try to hold in the tears. He can only think that _Kuroo is here_ and _it hurts_ and _I love him_ and yet _I hate him_. His head is spinning and he’s sure he would’ve fallen if he wasn’t leaning on the door. He’s sure he would’ve said something had his throat not been blocked by a well-made knot that refused to go down no matter how many times he tried to gulp it down. It hurts and the tears sting his eyes but he can’t _stop_ them because Kuroo is still talking but he doesn’t understand a single word because _fuck, this is too painful._

He’s still talking but all Kenma can hear is the loud thumping of his heart, frenetic and desperate.

_It fucking hurts._

“I missed you,” is what he says.

“I wanted to get back to you sooner, as soon as I arrived, but I didn’t have the guts,” is what he says.

“I wanted to call you every day and tell you how my days went,” is what he says.

“Because you’re the only one who’d laugh at my stupid jokes,” is what he says.

And Kenma’s had enough.

As he turns around, he feels his heart climbing up his throat and it’s so, so hard to breathe his vision gets blurry but he doesn’t care because he’s _pissed_. Kuroo is staring at him with soft eyes and a sweet smile and Kenma doesn’t think he’s ever wished to punch someone as bad as he wants to punch him right this second. He wants to scream and kick him in the crotch, make him fall down and slap him to his heart’s content because _this is so fucking unfair_ , he thinks, because he’s the one who’s spent countless nights crying and wondering if he’d ever be enough, if he could’ve done something to make him stay. He’s the one who wanted to call him every single day but had no means to because he fucking _left_.

“I missed you,” is what he says.

Kenma almost growls. “You don’t have any right to say that.”

“But I did miss you.”

Tears are falling freely now and Kenma doesn’t even care. Kuroo just stands there, arms loose and brows furrowed, and Kenma thinks he has the most punchable face he has ever seen in his life. His head is spinning and he’s sure he can’t really see from his left eye, but he takes one and then two steps forward, looking at him as if his eyes could burn as much as Kuroo’s eyes burn him.

And then he sobs.

He can’t keep it in because being around him physically hurts and Kenma wasn’t prepared.

Last night he had managed to drown it with alcohol. It burned as it slid down his throat, almost as much as the thing he’s been drenched with ever since he found out he was in love, but this kind of burning is different. Now it doesn’t just burn. Now it hurts and it itches and he never wants to be in love ever again. It’s not worth it.

“I was fine living without you,” Kenma whispers. “Why did you have to come back now?”

Kuroo takes a single step towards him. “I told you already. I wanted to see you because I missed having you around and I thought I could come and apologize. I should have come sooner, I know.”

“You shouldn’t have come,” he says. “You shouldn’t have, because now I’m about to explode. Because _you_ did this to me and left as if it didn’t mean anything. As if _I_ never meant anything and I just…”

When he takes another step towards him, Kenma instinctively takes a step back. He can’t do this, he can’t look at him without wanting to cry and scream and it’s too painful. He’s never dealt well with pain, sure, but _this_ is on another level. No one told him love was supposed to hurt this much, that it made you burn and left you speechless, unable to breathe.

He’s had enough.

He doesn’t want to be in love anymore.

But he _does_ , he wants to see Kuroo first thing in the morning, he wants to be the one who slides his fingers through his hair and _finally_ fixes that weird bedhead. He wants to touch him and feel his lips, wants to see if they’re as soft as they seem, wants to hear his voice, low and raspy under his ear. He wants him in so many ways he’s lost count already.

It’s so confusing.

And when Kuroo opens his mouth again, Kenma shakes his head, looking down at his feet. Looking at him hurts too much, it makes him want to cry. He takes a deep breath and digs his nails into his palms. _It’s now or never_ , he thinks, _because after this I’ll finally give up on him forever_.

“I just,” he sighs, blinking away the tears that insist on welling up in his eyes. “I kept thinking, day after day, seeing you with another girl whose name I didn’t know, that no matter how close we were, I was just a childhood friend and that’s all I was ever going to be. I never had the qualification to keep occupying the spot next to you and every single time that thought crossed my mind, it made me feel lonely.”

He takes a deep breath, still refusing to look at the man in front of him.

“You’d been the only constant thing in my life for so long and I guess I was just trying to keep you within my reach. These feelings of mine…” Kenma scowls. “Aren’t they ugly? What I’ve been afraid of all this time, that someday you’d leave me behind, maybe I was pretending not to see it, that these kind of feelings, if they’re all lumped together they can only mean that I ended up falling in love with you so hard I can’t even breathe properly when you’re around and that pisses me off.”

“Kenma…”

“No!” he chuckles through his tears and a broken sob comes out of his throat. Kuroo seems apologetic, somehow, and that only pisses him off some more. “I thought that by maintaining what we had, maybe then I could stay next to you forever as the quirky childhood friend and that’s what I believed in. I stood by you every single time you’d get yourself a new girl because I thought I was supposed to cheer you on even though my heart was shattered by my feet. I thought I was supposed to be the one you turned to when you got your heart broken and I did that _every_ _single_ time.”

The tears just won’t _stop_ and Kenma hates it. Kuroo is staring at him, mouth hanging open and eyes wide. Another broken sob comes out and Kenma doesn’t try to hide it, falling to his knees and letting his head hang low. _This is so embarrassing_ , he thinks. His heart is about to burst, every fiber of his being screaming in agony – but his mind has never been clearer. He knows exactly what he needs to say, and maybe it’s the alcohol’s doing or maybe he’s just tired of pretending he forgot all about that one fateful promise they made so long ago because he still thinks about it every night before he falls asleep, every morning as soon as he wakes up, asking himself if things would’ve turned out differently if he’d fallen for somebody else.

“But I found out that I desired you so much that it started to control me,” he admits in a whisper, shaking his head. He has his eyes closed so hard he sees white. “I could only think about you and it was so frightening, to think I didn’t have control over my own actions, that I couldn’t keep on living a lie, pretending it didn’t burn my insides whenever you called my name, as if it didn’t keep me awake at night.”

“If you just let me explain…”

“Why?” he chuckles, finally looking up. His lashes are wet and his throat is raw. His eyes burn and he the only thing he can think of is that he never meant for it to end up like this, but _fuck, it hurts_. “You were the _one_ constant thing in my life but as soon as you decided to get my hopes up like that, you fucking _left_ and I couldn’t find you because you didn’t even give me your new number or anything like that. I decided I’d have to throw these feelings away, lock them up in a box so I’d never have to face them again. I can’t keep doing this anymore, Kuro.”

The man in front of him tenses up at the nickname and the sight makes his heart hurt. It feels like he’s on fire from how difficult it is to breathe. It might be the last time he uses it. His voice is wrecked and he doesn’t even have it within him to care, to be embarrassed, because it _hurts_ and he just wants it to end.

“I’m sorry for liking you,” he sobs, shaking his head. Kenma sees him slowly falling to his knees in front of him, teary-eyed, mouth still hanging open. _Oh, it hurts so much_. “By the time I realized it, it was already too late and I could only think about you and then you joked about that marriage thing and I guess I took it to heart. I’m sorry.”

Tears flood his eyes, flowing freely through his cheeks now. His voice is wrecked and his heart seems to have been lit on fire, his lungs screaming in agony, his eyes burning and head spinning. Everything hurts in the worst way possible. He’d spent years stealing glances at him when he thought no one was looking, years of disguising his blushes, hiding his lovestruck face under his hair. He’d spent years wondering what those girls had that made them so interesting to him, years wondering how his lips tasted like, how they’d feel like. Years of late nights, staring up at his ceiling or hiding his face in a tear-stained pillow, muffling his sobs so no one knew what was going on inside his room, inside his heart. So many years of suffering, longing for someone who would never feel the same, for someone who left as soon as the chance arose. Pathetic, really.

It hurts and hurts and _hurts_ and Kenma hates himself for letting it happen. He hates himself for noticing how shiny his eyes looked, how ethereally beautiful they were in the morning glow. He hates himself for wanting to taste his lips, to touch his hair, to have him all around him, he absolutely hates it. He hates how his heart hurts even now, after saying all that, because it means he wasn’t able to move on as he had expected.

“I tried to forget about it,” he whispers. “I tried, I really did. But no one ever seems to be enough to cover up these feelings I have for you and no one ever seems to be able to catch my eye like you did and I just. I want it to end, Kuro. I’m tired of feeling like my heart’s about to explode.”

Kuroo is quiet for a few seconds and all they can hear are Kenma’s sobs echoing through the room. It’s pathetic, really, how childish he looks with tears flowing freely down his cheeks, puffy red eyes and a runny nose. If anyone told him he’d be looking like that as a thirty-year-old man, he’d mock them to no end because _there was no way in hell_. But there is – and this is hell. His own personal hell, apparently.

“I ran away from you,” Kuroo whispers after a particularly loud sob. “I ran way because we made that promise and all of a sudden it was too much for me, I’m sorry. But I never thought I didn’t want you around, Kenma. You misunderstood everything.”

“How–!” he yells, voice cracking. “How would I misunderstand _anything_ when you suddenly disappeared and I couldn’t even _reach_ you? No one knew where you were and I was _left behind_ because you suddenly decided you’d go overseas to do whatever it was that you wanted to do. You’re a jerk. I can’t believe I fell in love with you.”

“I ran away because I needed to sort things out!”

“And you didn’t even think about contacting me?!” his throat is dry and raw and even breathing hurts but he’s so _pissed_ , so _hurt_ he doesn’t even have it within him to care. “You didn’t think I was worried? You never thought about sending a _fucking postcard_ so I’d know you were alive?”

This wasn’t how he thought their reunion would be like. In his dreams, Kuroo would come home to him and speak sweet nothings under his ear and they’d embrace each other tightly. In his dreams, there was no screaming or fighting, there was just the two of them and a peaceful atmosphere.

But this isn’t a dream.

It’s not a dream and Kenma is _pissed._

He doesn’t want sweet nothings and careful touches. He wants to yell and punch him and tell him _every single thing_ he’s been through, hurting and longing for someone he couldn’t even say he _knew_ anymore. What a load of bullshit.

“I couldn’t contact you because _you_ were the reason I needed to sort things out,” Kuroo scratches his head, closing his eyes for a second.

Kenma is now seeing _flames_.

“After I told you that,” Kuroo starts talking again before Kenma can even begin to think about a comeback. “After we made that promise, I kept _seeing_ you, like actively seeing you and noticing every little thing and that was making me insane. I kept dreaming about you, I kept _, fuck_ , I couldn’t even look at you without thinking the weirdest shit. I needed time to think about you and me and us and literally everything else because all I could think about was you.”

“And you expect me to believe that” Kenma growls. “Just like that, you reappear after heavens know how long and you decide that _now_ you want to see me and talk as if you didn’t fucking leave me in the dark for _years_ , Kuro. We weren’t apart for days or weeks or even months. You were gone for _years_ and I’ve been living my life just fine without you, you know? I don’t need you like I did in the past.”

That hurt him, Kenma notices, because Kuroo flinches as soon as the words leave his mouth. _Good_ , he thinks, _now you can see how much it hurts._

“I never said you needed me,” Kuroo chuckles. But even so, Kenma hears that tiny hint of sadness behind it all. Or maybe he was just imagining it. Maybe the alcohol was still in his system and it was making him hear things that weren’t really there. “I know I fucked up and I know I could’ve found a way to deal with things that wouldn’t require me vanishing and all, but I’m kind of extreme, you know that. And I’m a jerk, sure. And I thought that, maybe, if I left, I wouldn’t be in your way anymore.”

“In my way?”

Kuroo sighs. “I heard some people talking about how I was holding you back, somehow? And that you were always following me around so that didn’t really help with your, uh, popularity… kind of.”

“So you ran away,” Kenma shakes his head.

“I did,” he answers with a shy smile. “I did because you make me a coward. I look at you and I see the most beautiful thing in the world and I didn’t want to hinder you. Maybe you could’ve found someone if it wasn’t for me, you know?”

He pretends there’s no lump in his throat and he can breathe just fine. None of those things are true – there is, in fact, something abnormally huge stuck inside his throat and his lungs scream in agony, desperately clawing at his chest, pleading for sweet, sweet oxygen, but Kenma doesn’t know how to breathe anymore, not after hearing that.

_I look at you and I see the most beautiful thing in the world_.

How does anyone even respond to that?

“So you left because you wanted me to _get laid_ after saying all that crap about marrying each other,” he says in a whisper.

“If we were _single_ , Kenma,” Kuroo chuckles again. He’s frowning and his lips are quivering as if he’s one step away from spilling the tears welling up inside. “I didn’t want you to be stuck with me for the rest of your life without even trying your luck with other people. You were never my possession and it made me feel bad when I heard people talking about you as if you were my little plaything. You weren’t.”

Oh, but he _was_. He’d spent years and years following him around, happily being dragged into anything Kuroo found immensely interesting. He’d let him do anything to him if it meant Kenma would see him smiling, if it meant they could spend time together. He didn’t really mind being unpopular or being called _Kuroo’s plaything_.

But Kuroo was an idiot.

“I felt like I owed you,” he goes on. Kenma clenches his jaw, tears stinging his eyes once again. “Because it felt like I was stopping you from doing other things, like I was only dragging you around all this time and that made me feel guilty. So when I realized what I was feeling I tried applying to universities abroad and actually got in. And I left. I wanted to give you some space and give you an opportunity to live your life without being stuck with me all the time.”

“Has it ever occurred to you,” Kenma whispers, doing his best to keep his tears from falling down his cheeks. He refuses to cry again. “That maybe you weren’t really _dragging_ me along? That maybe I was happy to be a part of your life? That maybe I just wanted to spend time with you because _I liked it?!_ ”

Kuroo gulps. “I don’t–”

“Has it ever occurred to you that I was doing whatever you wanted me to do because _I loved you_ and I wanted you to see me like that as well, so I did _everything_ I could. I was happy being around you because you were _looking at me_ and that was enough,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “But of course you’d leave without telling me. Maybe you were the one who thought I was a little plaything, after all.”

“Kenma…”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have come back,” he sighs. “Maybe you should’ve stayed there and lived you life with a pretty girl and started your own family. And then one day you’d come back and we’d meet again and you’d introduce me as your childhood friend and that would be it. And I’d do my best to be happy for you because then I would finally be able to move on and be happy with someone else.”

“This is unfair,” Kuroo says back.

“No,” Kenma chuckles. “You’re the one who’s unfair. You’re the one who decided you were done with this and you _left_ because you made a stupid promise you didn’t really want to keep. You ran away from me because in your head I would be better off without you around. You never even stopped to consider _my_ feelings, did you? You’re the one who’s unfair, Kuroo.”

He didn’t use his nickname.

Kuroo flinches, closing his eyes for a second. He holds his head with both hands and a loud sigh echoes as none of them say another word. Kenma’s trembling hands are resting on his thighs, his eyes are burning from the tears that refused to fall and his stomach is tied up in thick, well-made knots and he feels like throwing up.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you” he says all of a sudden.

Kenma tenses up almost immediately. “Don’t.”

“I couldn’t,” he repeats. “And when I decided to come back to see you I decided I’d do the most risky thing in the world and literally wiped out my bank account because I think you deserve nice things and I was kind of a dick so I had to make it up to you somehow.”

The floor feels like a carrousel beneath his body, its never-ending swirl making it harder for Kenma to see. Or maybe it’s the tears, he doesn’t even know anymore. The one thing he knows is that Kuroo is there and he just said everything he’d kept hidden for years and years and now he’s crying and Kuroo’s taking something out of his pocket and _ah_ , Kenma wants to throw up and cry some more. He also wants a bath and he wants his bed but Kuroo’s still there and he’s holding something up and said something shines under the morning light that creeps through the window and Kenma’s sure he’s no longer breathing because even if the tears and the alcohol make it harder for him to see, he still knows what that is.

He whines.

“Are you joking?” is all Kenma can say.

He says it once and then twice. And a few more times after that, not even noticing the tears flowing freely down his cheeks again. Kuroo smiles fondly at him, crawling closer so he can look him in the eye.

It takes everything in him not to get up and waddle away from him because surely this is too much, it should’ve been too much because _who even does that_ , right? But the carrousel is still spinning and he’s not even sure he feels his legs anymore. Kuroo is too close, close enough for Kenma to smell his cologne and a hundred different emotions flow through him. He shivers, closing his eyes for a second so he can breathe again.

“Do you think I’d buy this as a joke?” he chuckles, wiping away the lonely tear that still lingers on Kenma’s cheek. “Do you really think I’d give you a ring as a joke? Is that the kind of person you think I am?”

“You _vanished_ for _years_ , Kuroo,” he whispers back, suddenly feeling his cheek burn. He hates him _so fucking much_.

When he opens his eyes again, Kuroo is smiling at him.

“I did,” Kuroo nods. “Because I didn’t know what to do with these feelings every time you looked at me. I needed time to think about this, to know it wasn’t just because of what we said at that time. I didn’t want to believe I loved you because of a childish promise like that.”

“So you literally ran away from me all the way across the ocean?”

“I’m a dumbass, I thought we’d already went through that point” he jokes, poking Kenma’s cheek. “But when I was there, every time I tried my luck and went out with someone I kept thinking about you and how I’d rather be with you. None of them would ever compare. I kept seeing your eyes in my dreams, seeing your smile every time I closed my eyes and at some point I thought I’d gone insane.”

Kenma shakes his head, trying to get his hair to fall back on his face so he could hide his blush. It’s ridiculous how Kuroo manages to make him blush like a teenager, to make him weak with just a few words. He wants to punch him and kiss him and punch him again because this is _so unfair_. He’s still pissed and he thinks it’s ridiculous how he’s got a _fucking engagement ring_ but something in his heart twitches in excitement.

“Why did you ask me that?” Kenma suddenly speaks up.

“Why did I ask you what?”

“To marry you,” he shrugs, pouting. Kuroo snorts.

“There’s no one else in the world who knows me as you do,” he points out. “You’re family. When I thought about marrying someone, you’re the only person I could imagine sharing my life with. The only person in the world I would want to wake up and go home to. I kept thinking, after all those failed relationships, that maybe the problem wasn’t with them. The problem was _me_ , because I was already hopelessly in love with you back then and I couldn’t do anything but talk about you and want to be with you and they got tired of it because, honestly, who wouldn’t?”

Kenma gulps. _Tell me about it…_

“That thing you said earlier? About being the quirky childhood friend?” Kuroo sighs. “That was it. You never seemed interested in romance at all so I just thought I’d have to make do with someone else but we both know how that turned out. It wasn’t a joke, I wasn’t trying to prank you. I meant it when I said I wanted to marry you when we were both thirty and sad and single because I’d never consider anyone else. _Fuck_ , Kenma. I’ve been in love with you since day one.”

He freezes.

Kuroo notices it and a smug smirk crosses his face. “What?”

“Don’t do that,” he whispers. His eyes are a waterfall and he’s _this close_ to breaking down once again.

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t play with my heart like this,” Kenma sniffs. “You don’t get to do that after so many years. You don’t get to reappear and think I’m going to throw myself in your arms and forget about the _years_ I spent crying my eyes out every night asking myself what I could’ve done to keep you with me.”

“I’m not trying to play with your heart,” Kuroo smiles softly. “I just wanted to tell you now. The Kenma I know is still that sixteen-year-old who hid behind his hair and was obsessed with games. The Kenma that’s sitting right in front of me now? I know nothing about him. I’m not trying to make you fall into my arms as if nothing happened. I know I was wrong and I hate myself for leaving you like this, but I was a stupid seventeen-year-old who was trying to make sense of his own feelings and when I noticed it had been so long already that I got scared. I didn’t want to come back and see you with someone else because I’m a jealous jerk when it comes to you. Even when I don’t have any right to be.”

Kenma wants to punch him. He wants to yell and kick him in the stomach and yell some more because _how dare he come back and sweep Kenma off his feet this easily as if he’d never went away in the first place?!_ He wants to cry and tell him he doesn’t love him anymore, that he’s already found someone new and that he doesn’t need Kuroo anymore. He wants to tell him about a certain newcomer at work that has been flirting with him even though he has no intention to let it become something serious just so he can see Kuroo’s face. He wants to tell him he’s no longer a kid, that he’s experienced lots of things with different people only so he could forget about him. It’s not really a lie – he’d just have to omit the fact that he never let it escalate any further than holding hands.

He wants to tell him he doesn’t like him anymore as of now because his heart can’t handle any more pain. He wants to say _please, let me move on_ but the words don’t come out. He wants to pull his face closer and wants to kiss him – _hard_. He wants to ask him to stay and never leave him ever again.

He doesn’t say any of that, though.

“I fucking hate you,” is what Kenma says, finally. “I hate you so, so much. You don’t get to do this, to come back and think I’ll just accept a fucking engagement ring or whatever the hell this is supposed to be. I won’t. I don’t want it.”

But he _did_ , watching it glow like that. He _did_ , seeing Kuroo so close to him like that, on his knees, looking at him as if he’s the one thing he needs to live. He _did_ because that looked expensive and Kenma would be lying if he said he never thought about Kuroo giving one of those to him. He would be lying if he said he never thought about the day he finally turned thirty and Kuroo would show up at his house and give him a nice ring and they’d finally kiss and hold each other as they were supposed to.

It hurts so much Kenma thinks he’s about to die.

“I hate you,” he whines.

“You’re crying again,” Kuroo comments.

_As if I don’t know that_ , Kenma wants to tell him.

_As if I’m not being torn apart right in front of your eyes_ , Kenma wants to tell him.

_As if I’m not about to burst into flames right now_.

“You don’t have to accept it right now,” Kuroo says, almost in a whisper. “I don’t want to come here and think I’m entitled to have you or anything like that. I came here to apologize and to finally tell you that I’ve always been in love with you. I came here to tell you I couldn’t stop thinking about you and that I still remember that promise we made when we were teenagers. I came here to tell you I’m willing to wait however long you need to accept me into your life again. And I’m okay with the fact that you might not want to have anything to do with me anymore. I just wanted to see you, to tell you everything I’d been keeping a secret for so long.”

When Kenma doesn’t answer, Kuroo stretches out an arm and wipes another lonely tear from his cheek. His touch lingers but Kenma doesn’t feel it burn. His touch is soft and Kenma has to stop himself from nuzzling his hand, from leaning into him and letting him consume him again. It takes everything in him to break away from him, to not let him wrap his arms around his body and claim him as his.

“You’re not allowed to just waltz back into my life like that, Kuro,” Kenma whispers back at him.

“I know.”

“You’re not allowed to just…”

“I know.”

“And you can’t just expect me to let you in like that.”

“I know,” he nods, finally. “I was a jerk and I abandoned you. You have every right to be pissed at me. Hell, I’ll let you punch me for every single tear you’ve shed all these years if you’d like. But I wanted to see you and apologize and give you this. I don’t care if you throw it out or anything, but I bought it for you.”

As if on cue, the ring shines brightly and Kenma almost sobs again.

“I’m not keeping it,” he murmurs. “I can’t keep that.”

“Then how about I keep it for you?” Kuroo suggests, smiling at him. “Whenever you’re ready, it’s yours. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll come up to you and put it on your finger and we’ll fulfill that promise we made so long ago. How about that?”

Kenma shakes his head. It’s too much – Kuroo is too much. It hurts but it’s also that tingling, exciting feeling climbing up his spine, making him shiver without even noticing. It hurts but it’s also that cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, spreading throughout his whole body and all of a sudden he’s crying again.

“I should punch you right now,” Kenma chuckles, still wiping his tears.

“I’d let you, however many times you want.” Kuroo replies softly, head slightly tilted to the side as he smiles fondly at him. “But first… how about that pudding I brought?”

He doesn’t mean to, but he smiles.

_**5.** _

Kenma doesn’t like to move around much, everyone knows that. He doesn’t like the heat and he doesn’t like to chitchat but if there’s one thing he absolutely _hates_ is moving around when he doesn’t have to. It’s just one of those things that seem pointless, you know? If you move too much you’re bound to get sweaty and gross and Kenma doesn’t like any of those things. If you move too much, you’ll get tired and that’s another thing he doesn’t enjoy.

That’s why he doesn’t really understand why, as soon as his shift ended, he bolted towards the staff room. Okay, he _might_ have a guess but that’s something he would never admit out loud, not without some kind of torture first, anyway.

“You’re lively today, Kenma-san!”

Lev has just finished buttoning up his shirt when Kenma walks in, out of breath and maybe regretting his decision to run instead of walking like a normal human being. He nods at Lev before taking off his smelly, brown-stained uniform. Damn the new guy for dropping a ladle of gravy on his shoulder – like, _come on_ , he’s not even that short.

His hair smells like onions and beef and he probably has a mix of paprika and salt under his nails, but he doesn’t have the time to run back home to take a shower. He’ll have to settle with the cheap cologne he keeps in the staff room.

“Do you have any plans?” Lev asks him.

“Yeah,” Kenma shrugs.

“Are you dating someone?” he asks again.

Kenma freezes on the spot. It’s not like they’re _dating_ , right? It’s not like they ever promised not to see anyone else, anyway, and it’s not like Kenma ever thought of him as his boyfriend. But maybe he did. He did think about it when he woke up to his sleeping face every morning. He did think about it when he kissed him farewell before leaving the house and when he said _welcome back_ from the kitchen as soon as he came back from work. He did think about it when they kissed and when they whispered sweet nothings under the blankets (and maybe on the couch and the kitchen counter a few times, but no one needs to know that).

“Does it seem like I am?”

Lev giggles childishly before nodding. “You’ve been looking happier for the past few months.”

“Really?”

When Lev nods, Kenma can’t even hide the smile that tugs his lips up. He _has_ been happier. He no longer complains about waking up early and he actually started to enjoy being at home on the weekends because he’s not alone anymore. He’s still going out with Yaku after work sometimes (even though he had to take a few weeks to sulk and process the fact that he _fucking knew_ and didn’t tell him) and maybe now, he decides, he’ll even invite Lev next time.

He shrugs it off when Lev starts to question him about his secret lover’s identity, waving his hands up in the air as he walks towards the door. After hearing a _you’re so mean, Kenma-san!_ , he turns around and smiles at him sweetly, brushing his hair out of his face. Lev pouts, crossing his arms in front of his chest like a kid.

“When I go out for drinks next time, I’ll bring you with me. Is that okay?” Kenma asks. This question alone is enough for Lev to forget all about his previous questioning and Kenma is finally allowed to breathe.

He’s not really paying attention to whatever it is that Lev is saying, nodding whenever he asks something in hopes that it was, indeed, a yes or no question. Eventually, he gets up and leaves, waving goodbye and softly wishing Kenma good luck on his date today. It’s an immediate reaction from him, cheeks blushing and eyes rolling down to stare at his feet.

He just _had_ to do that, that little shit.

It’s cold outside when Kenma finally steps out of the restaurant. Cold enough that, even with so many layers of clothing, he still shivers when the night air touches his face. The streets are crowded and he can’t see anything other than _people, people, people_ all around – and if he’s being honest, he’s starting to get dizzy. He doesn’t know why he couldn’t just go home and cook them a nice meal and have cheap wine and _fuck_ , _who knows_ , binge-watch crappy TV shows or play stupid games all night. He doesn’t even know why he agreed to meet up outside when he _knew_ it was going to be cold and crowded and he’s _so tired_ from running around all day he swears he’ll make him carry him piggyback all night if he has to.

It’s revenge for the times he couldn’t have him, Kenma reasons in his head. It’s revenge for every single time he stole his covers in the middle of the night or when he woke him up with tickles. It’s revenge for when he made him wake up unnecessarily early and for the times he kept him up all night because he wanted to touch him, to make a mess out of him for _just a little longer_. Or maybe Kenma just wants him to carry him because he likes his arms and he likes _him_.

His touch is no longer hurtful, it no longer burns – it’s lukewarm, it’s comforting, it’s everything inherently who he was before they parted ways and who he is now that they’re finally together and manages to get to know each other again and yet Kenma still feels like dying when he touches him, but now it’s a good way.

“Missed me today?” he hears from behind as Kuroo wraps his arms around him.

“You wish.” Kenma rolls his eyes even though he can’t see it. “Where are you taking me today?”

Kuroo hums softly, chin resting in the crook of his neck. Kenma feels something pleasantly hot spreading across his stomach, flammable liquid still traveling inside his veins, but this time it’s not uncomfortable at all. This time it means comfort and care and everything Kenma spent so many years wishing for. It means he has him as a whole. It means he’s the one who gets to touch him and feel his warmth, the one who gets to kiss him and the one who gets to hold him late at night. It feels surreal.

“I’m taking you out for a nice dinner date,” he finally answers, straightening his back but not unwrapping his arms from around Kenma. “I still have years to make up for the time I fucked up. I think you were generous allowing me to be with you this early in the game.”

“I waited for more than ten years, Kuro,” Kenma sighs. “I don’t care how you’re going to pay me back for waiting this long or how many years it’ll take but I wouldn’t let you make me wait even longer. That’s a big no from me.”

Kuroo laughs a bit laugh before softly kissing the top of his head, slowly unwrapping his arms from around him and searching for his hand. Kenma looks at him with an arched eyebrow, but lets him take his hand in his anyway. He looks better than he did this morning, he thinks, and it makes his heart clench in a good way, flipping around his chest as if it has no idea where it’s supposed to be. Kenma would be lying if he said he didn’t like that.

And there’s something different about Kuroo as well, he’s come to realize.

Now he likes expensive wine and hasn’t allowed Kenma to drink cheap beer anymore. Now he enjoys homemade cooking more than he enjoys eating out even if that makes Kenma roll his eyes at him and sometimes not speak to him for the rest of the night because _come on_ , he spends his days cooking and the last thing he wants to do when he gets home is cook some more. But he does it anyway because if there’s one thing Kuroo enjoys more than expensive wine, this thing is Kenma’s homemade cooking. It doesn’t matter what it is, he’ll eat it. Kenma one day caught himself wondering if Kuroo would eat even a rock if Kenma told him he was the one who made it (he thinks he would).

Kuroo’s always been a showoff, that hasn’t changed. And the way he enjoys playing with Kenma’s hair is also the same. There’s also the way he likes to wrap his arms around his shoulders and tease him for his mannerisms. Kenma doesn’t mind.

But if there’s one thing Kuroo does that he definitely minds is the way he teases him in _every_ way possible. He’s used to being teased for his mannerisms, but now Kuroo has a whole new array of things to tease him about and it’s honestly the worst thing in the world. As soon as he wakes up, Kuroo teases him about his bedhead even though he’s always had it worse and never bothered to fix it. When he’s mindlessly, still half-asleep, walking towards the kitchen to make coffee in the morning, Kuroo says he’s just like the zombies from the videogames he likes so much. When he gets home after work, he teases him about how he smells like whatever it is that someone accidentally spilt on him (it was particularly bad when Kenma got home smelling like cooking saké and Kuroo gave him a lecture about _good alcohol, Kenma, this is important)_. Or maybe he doesn’t mind it all that much, after all.

There are times he still thinks he’s one step away from burning up, drenched in everything so ridiculously, characteristically _him_ that it makes it hard to breathe, hard to see anything other than Kuroo. But even so, the heat isn’t all that bad.

“So,” Kuroo mumbles out, taking a sip out of his wine. “How was work?”

“You don’t really want to know.”

“Okay, then,” he chuckles. “It’s just that you don’t smell like shrimp or soy sauce today. I was just wondering if your coworkers have finally managed to learn how to hold things properly.”

Kenma doesn’t mean to, but he snorts. “You’re an ass.”

“We’ve agreed on that a long time ago, darling.”

“Gross.”

The one thing Kenma likes the most? It has to be how their interactions haven’t changed one bit. Kuroo is still an idiot who likes to tease people and Kenma is still quiet, still prefers to be alone sometimes. The only difference is that now, besides being older, they kiss and share a bed and have sex sometimes. Oh, and they also argue a lot about dirty dishes on the sink and wet towels on top of their bed. But that’s about it.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

“You just did.” Kenma smirks, staring at Kuroo over the top of his wine glass.

Kuroo clicks his tongue, shaking his head. He mumbles out a barely audible _where did you learn that from_ , to which Kenma mouths silently back _you, you jerk_. There are fewer people on the restaurant now and it seems like they’re in their own little world. Kenma has always thought Kuroo’s eyes were pretty, but now they seem almost otherworldy. Maybe it’s the lighting. Or maybe he’s just in love.

When Kuroo shifts in his seat, Kenma arches an eyebrow again, tilting his head to the side.

When Kuroo pulls that familiar box from his left pocket, Kenma swears his heart stops for a second.

When Kuroo smiles at him, Kenma thinks his blood is boiling. He’s literally about to faint.

“Can I tell you a story, then?” Kuroo asks again.

Kenma doesn’t even have it within him to say anything anymore. He knows Kuroo was waiting, he knows he’s been holding on to that, he knows all of that, but it’s still sudden somehow and he’s not sure he’s ready for it. He’s not sure he can do it without crying and _fuck_ , the tears are already welling up and he has no strength left in his body to wipe them off because if there is one thing about Kuroo that hasn’t changed, it’s definitely the fact that he can make Kenma go up in flames without ever needing to do anything and doing _this_ , out of all the things he could’ve done, should definitely be illegal or something.

“Once upon a time there was a boy who loved a boy so much he couldn’t think about anything else,” he says. “Once upon a time this boy thought it would be great if he could have the other boy for the rest of his life and he proposed. They agreed to get married when they were older and still alone and when the boy he loved accepted it, he got scared and ran away from him.”

“Stop.”

“Once upon a time, this boy came back and didn’t have the guts to meet up with the boy he loved because he got scared of being rejected,” he goes on. “When they finally met up, the boy didn’t know what to say and they fought. They screamed and they cried and then the boy realized he had come to be hated by the boy he loved, even if just a little bit.”

Kenma doesn’t even try to stop the tears because there’s no point. Kuroo is staring at him with loving eyes and a sweet smile and the ring is shining right in front of his face and _this is definitely too much,_ Kenma thinks. It’s hot all of a sudden, his blood is like a trail of fire spreading throughout his body and he’s being consumed.

And Kuroo goes on: “Then the boy decided he’d propose in the worst possible way because he was afraid to lose the boy he loved. Because he was the only person in the world the boy treasured more than anything. And the boy got turned down because he actually fell in love with a really, really smart boy.”

“You idiot,” Kenma chuckles through his tears, shaking his head.

“And then the boys talked,” Kuroo’s smile grows wider and he winks at Kenma. “They talked about things and they agreed to take things slow. They ate the worst pudding in the history of pudding and laughed about it. The boy asked the other boy on a date and they drank too much and ended up watching crappy romcoms all night long, waking up wrapped in each other’s arms because there’s nowhere else they would ever fit that nicely, is what the boy thought when he woke up.”

“You’re such a sap.”

“But the thing is?” Kuroo sighs, the never-fading smile still plastered on his face. “The boy is always carrying this little thing around waiting for the day he’ll gather enough courage to ask him for real. Because they made that promise a long time ago, because he’s never considered anyone else to stand by his side forever. Even if he ran away and tried to keep a distance, even if he was a jerk and then a coward, even if he’s made so many mistakes, even then. Because he’s always loved him and he could never bring himself to think about anyone else.”

If Kenma wasn’t crying already, he would be now.

Tears flow freely through his cheeks and he doesn’t even try to hide it with his hair or with his hands, he doesn’t even try to wipe them away. He sobs and shakes his head, biting his bottom lip so hard he’s afraid it’ll draw blood but it doesn’t matter – because Kuroo is holding that _fucking ring_ and he’s being a ridiculous, out-of-his-mind romantic and Kenma feels like he’s been dipped in a flammable liquid all over again, but this time he doesn’t even care. It doesn’t hurt anymore.

“We made a promise a long time ago,” Kuroo says. “Do you remember it?”

Kenma nods.

“And when we agreed to get to know each other again,” he chuckles, reaching forward to wipe a tear from Kenma’s cheek. “You told me you’d need time to let me in, to accept this as something ours, to wear this proudly as a reminder that I was always yours from the start. Do you remember that?”

Kenma nods again.

“Will you marry me?” he asks softly. “Again, that is.”

He doesn’t mean to, but Kenma laughs. Full-on, throwing-your-head-back laughs and Kuroo giggles along with him because _that was so stupid, oh my god_. Kuroo whines about it, complaining that Kenma doesn’t appreciate how poetic and romantic this is while he can only stick out his tongue in response. But as soon as they stop laughing and the tears on Kenma’s face have dried already, they smile.

They smile because the answer is obvious, has always been, and they both know it.

So Kenma doesn’t answer, he doesn’t nod, he doesn’t even stick out his arm for Kuroo to put the ring on his finger. They both know – and that’s enough. Kuroo then closes the box and places it next to Kenma’s wine glass, mouthing to him that _this is yours now_ , and Kenma can only nod and reply that _no, you’re the one that’s mine._

Loving Kuroo always made Kenma feel like he was drenched in flammable liquid, one step away from burning up. Once, it had been painful and uncomfortable. Once, Kenma would cry himself to sleep, holding on to his pillow for dear life. But now it’s comfortable and soothing. Now Kenma doesn’t have to hide his blush behind his hair, now he doesn’t have to gulp down his low _iloveyou_ ’s and he doesn’t have to hold back from touching him.

Somewhere along the course of his life, Kenma fell into a burning yet lonesome love. Now he knew exactly when it started, that mess inside his stomach, the persistent lump in his throat, but now there was no trace of bittersweetness when their eyes met. He knew exactly when he started to watch Kuroo so intently, noticing his every detail, every single thing that made him so ethereal, but now he could do so without needing to conceal it. Now he could touch him and have Kuroo touch him as well. Now he could tell him over and over how much he loved him and he’d hear it back a thousand times more.

Besides that, Kenma knows that he’s never felt so full before and it’s all because, one day, loving Kuroo has made him somehow get doused in gasoline and, if he's being honest, it's both the worst and best thing that has ever happened to him. 

**Author's Note:**

> so proofreading this was hell dkfhkdh 
> 
> i apologize for any mistakes you might have encountered! i'm sleep deprived but i owed you this since it's all i'm talking about for days
> 
> come yell at/with me on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/aaIphard) (´꒳`)


End file.
